Taylor was transfixed as he watched an amateur video of an overweight man emerge from a restaurant accompanied by several people who looked like policemen. With a casual wave, the man acknowledged the crowd who’d assembled and then headed to an awaiting limousine. He assiduously ignored questions from any journalists angling to get close to him. Just as he was bending to enter the car, Franconi’s body jerked, and he staggered backward with his hand clasping the base of his neck. As he fell to his right, his body jerked again before hitting the ground. The men who’d accompanied him had drawn their guns and were frantically turning in all directions. The pursuing journalists had all hit the deck.

“Whoa!” Jack commented. “What a scene! Sort’a reminds me of the killing of Lee Harvey Oswald. So much for police protection.”

“I wonder what effect this will have on future similar witnesses?” Liz asked.

“Not good, I’m sure,” Jack said.

Taylor’s eyes immediately switched to CNN, which was at that moment about to show the same video. He watched the sequence again. It made him wince. At the end of the tape, CNN went live to a reporter outside the Office of the Chief Medical Examiner for the City of New York.

“The question now is whether there were one or two assailants,” the reporter said over the sound of the traffic on First Avenue. “It’s our impression that Franconi was shot twice. The police are understandably chagrined over this episode and have refused to speculate or offer any information whatsoever. We do know that an autopsy is scheduled for tomorrow morning, and we assume that ballistics will answer the question.”

Taylor turned down the sound on the television, then picked up his drink. Walking to the window, he gazed out at the angry, dark sea. Franconi’s death could mean trouble. He looked at his watch. It was almost midnight in West Africa.

Snatching up the phone, Taylor called the operator at GenSys and told him he wanted to speak with Kevin Marshall immediately.

Replacing the receiver, Taylor returned his gaze out the window. He’d never felt completely comfortable about this project although financially it was looking very profitable. He wondered if he should stop it. The phone interrupted his thoughts.

Picking the receiver back up, Taylor was told that Mr. Marshall was available. After some static Kevin’s sleepy voice crackled over the line.

“Is this really Taylor Cabot?” Kevin asked.

“Do you remember a Carlo Franconi?” Taylor demanded, ignoring Kevin’s question.

“Of course,” Kevin said.

“He’s been murdered this afternoon,” Taylor said. “There’s an autopsy scheduled for the morning in New York City. What I want to know is, could that be a problem?”

There was a moment of silence. Taylor was about to question whether the connection had been broken when Kevin spoke up.

“Yes, it could be a problem,” Kevin said.

“Someone could figure out everything from an autopsy?”

“It’s possible,” Kevin said. “I wouldn’t say probable, but it is possible.”